Unsung Requiem by C.L. Stone

Aria

(Self-contained piece for one voice usually with orchestral accompaniment)

Sang

After I got some better clothes on, we were in Mr. Blackbourne’s BMW, the one that had been recovered. It seemed back to normal, the VIN back into the dash without any indication that it had been traded.

Mr. Buble insisted I sit in the front seat while Mr. Blackbourne drove.

“Get comfortable,” he said to me as he held the door open. “And be ready.”

“For what?”

“You’ll have to fill in if I fail.”

I wasn’t sure what we were going to do, but I sat on my good hand to stop it from shaking, and pressed my fractured hand to my body.

I wasn’t totally sure I wouldn’t fall asleep on the ride.

Along the way, when there was a pause in the conversation as Mr. Buble went over what happened the other night with details he heard from Gabriel and North as well, I asked. “Weren’t we supposed to lay low and let Volto think we weren’t doing anything?”

“I felt that way,” Mr. Buble said from the back seat. “Until he… we’re assuming it’s him still… invaded the Griffin house. Among other incidents.”

“It’s what our team has dealt with for a while now,” Mr. Blackbourne spoke as he drove, never moving his eyes from the road, and always keeping his hands at ten and two on the steering wheel. “We get quiet, he shows up. We’re in action, he shows up. There’s not much of a difference, and despite when we’ve thought we had some high ground, he manages to evade being discovered each time.”

“There’s another option, however,” Mr. Buble said. “What happens if we removed some people? Perhaps even further out of reach? We could try, at least for a while.”

Mr. Blackbourne slowly nodded and continued to focus on driving.

Removed people.

Moved them away.

Who? Me?

Part of me didn’t want to ask. Not right now. Instead, out the window, the scenery changed, drifting by as the car rolled along. The interior smelled of spring soap, and now another scent carried, another type of soap, maybe lavender or lilac, I wasn’t sure but it was flowery of some sort. I wondered if it was from Mr. Buble. I hadn’t been so close, not without a mixture of scents to make it too difficult to identify if he carried any, but it was noticeable now.

It was several miles before I finally realized we were headed downtown and in the direction of the Morgan estate.

I turned to Mr. Blackbourne. “Are we going to Victor’s house?” I asked.

He nodded slowly.

“We’re taking a risk,” Mr. Buble said, gazing out the side window. “I understand this is what this group does.”

“You’re fitting in pretty well,” Mr. Blackbourne said to him.

I turned to look at Mr. Buble. He didn’t look back at me, but he was smiling at the window. As strict as I’d thought of him, an older man with such a particular way about him, now it felt comfortable to have him around. It wasn’t totally clear if it was simply because he was with the Academy, but for the last week or so getting to know him, he seemed much different than who I’d felt he was before.

He followed the rules, but he was willing to dive into the fight. He was willing to take a risk.

I noticed, now, how he had a change in coloration around his face. Around one eye. A black eye? Sort of. A mark where his glasses had smashed against his face? After a punch?

He was wearing makeup.

He did fit in with us.

We didn’t go directly to the gate, but a block away, at a spot Mr. Blackbourne knew the security team couldn’t see in their cameras. We couldn’t show we were together, not right now, apparently.

I looked intently at the large house a short distance away, the yellow exterior with the white trim. I’d been at the house a lot lately, always unwelcomed by Mrs. Morgan.

I couldn’t imagine she’d be happy to see me.

“Hopefully this won’t take long,” Mr. Buble said. He got out of the car, smoothed his hands over his clothes, and took with him a clipboard and a folder. “Time to put our Mr. Morgan out of his misery… so to speak.”

It was the way he said our that made me feel his determination. He wouldn’t stop trying to protect Victor.

He wouldn’t stop no matter what.

I sat still in the passenger seat, confused at his words. When Mr. Buble walked off toward the large yellow house, I kept an eye on him as I asked Mr. Blackbourne, “What is he doing?”

“Giving Victor what he wants,” Mr. Blackbourne said. “And freeing the Morgans of their problems. If they choose to accept, at least.” He gazed at me. “He’s been asking for you all night, it seems. You’re here in case he needs you to think clearly.”

“Think clearly?”

“There’s a choice left to make. The same choice Victor’s always had a difficult time making.”

My heart surged. I immediately turned to the door. “I’ll go now.”

Mr. Blackbourne held on to my arm. “Wait,” he said.

I hesitated, because he was so direct, despite my desperation to go help Victor.

“Let Mr. Buble handle it.”

“But…”

Mr. Blackbourne released my arm and gently spoke. “I know there’s some issue in the group about trusting Mr. Buble, but I hoped after sending him to be more involved with all of you, that you all would have learned to trust him more.”

“We do…”

“He is Academy, after all.”

I nodded and forced myself to remain in the car, sitting back, watching Mr. Buble enter the house alone.

“Are you sure this is the right decision?” I asked Mr. Blackbourne quietly. “His parents could force him to stay.”

“He’s not a prisoner. Victor’s place is with us.”

“So why do you say it’s a choice?”

“Because he’s also not our prisoner,” Mr. Blackbourne said. “Family is a choice.”

“The last time I was here, they were so convincing, trying to tell him he risked exposing me if I stayed with him or if he came with us.”

“That’s still true,” he said. “And will be true while the media has its day with dramatically covering what’s happened to him lately.”

That was true. He was in the car by himself and there would be news covering it for a while. The news… it’d likely expose him as some teenager who was rebelling against his parents, drinking at his birthday, crashing the car, driving while under the influence. “He’ll get charged? He’ll be arrested?”

“He won’t escape a trial,” Mr. Blackbourne said quietly. “Although community service could be traded for any jail time for a first offense.”

My heart seized. “No…” What if it didn’t work? A judge could say anything. And he’d be gone. In jail. For how long? And community service? It wasn’t his fault.

Mr. Blackbourne reached to me, collecting my hands this time and holding to them strong. “We know the truth,” he said. “We know what happened, and Mr. Buble is going in to try to remedy this situation as best as he can. This is what he does.”

“Mr. Buble does this?”

“He’s a child advocate, a foster parent, and presents himself as a few other things. But in this case, he’s the answer to their problems, unless they say no for reasons we couldn’t imagine. But let’s trust Mr. Buble can handle it.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

His thumbs smoothed over the back of my hands, massaging gently. “We’re next. And if we don’t work, we send Mr. Lee. And if he doesn’t work, we have more. Whoever it takes.”

There was no doubt in those steel eyes that looked me over. “You want him out?”

“I want us together,” he said. “It’s everything I’ve worked for.”

I had to give Mr. Buble a chance. His parents might not want him there, but Victor would have to choose.

So I waited with Mr. Blackbourne, in the car, ready. I wasn’t sure what I’d say even if I had to go in, but I assumed Mr. Blackbourne had a plan, or maybe it depended on what happened with Mr. Buble.

I’d wait.

I’d wait for Victor. And I firmly believed no one on the team would rest until he was with us again.

I wouldn’t rest until I could get to him and confess.

I did love him. I wouldn’t be afraid to tell him next time.